


Abdivacation

by squeezedoutofmiracles



Category: FriendSim - Fandom, Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Adult Trolls, Ficlet, Gen, Minific, Oneshot, Subjugglator culture, clown culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 15:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15998462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeezedoutofmiracles/pseuds/squeezedoutofmiracles
Summary: Get it like abdication but there’s a vacation in there.How about this new jugalette huh. Seems pretty well liked. Pretty capable. Would be a shame if she were to... do something about that.GHB gets old and tired and she respects the old goat but it’s time for some new blood at the top. She takes her chance.





	Abdivacation

She’d heard about the fights that came before a new coronation. There were sermons about them, tapestries dictating them, jokes about some of the sickest takedowns of Messianic history, but living one was a different motherfucking kettlepot, and her whole soul ached with how hard that motherfucker had fought it. He’d gotten old, old as galaxies and mountains and faith itself, and he was flagging, not bad enough that he was puttin a danger to nobody by bein in charge, yet, but she could do it better. She knew she could.

Don’t get her wrong, she respected the hell outta the old goat. He’d been the only Grand Highblood she’d ever known and he’d stretched the church far and wide and righteous, but she could take it further. All throughout her motherfuckin feeding, all through clown college she’d motherfuckin excelled in physical combat, melee and long distance, and when her voodoos had come in motherfuckers had learned the real meaning of reverence. Sister Maenad, they called out to her in the halls between feedings, Sister Maenad, hey, whoop! 

Too rowdy for the laughsassins by nature, but she motherfuckin ruled at unfaithful relations. Going down planetside with a shuttle of similar minded motherfuckers and taking a cult apart piece by piece, that was the shit she lived for. Smashing their false alters and painting over the faces of their idols with greasepaint, razing the false churches to the ground and making troll-s’mores on the embers, that was the shit she lived for.

And this motherfucker was getting tired. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he gave sermons, he’d seen more than any troll had the right to, and she could tell he was thinking about the big ole tent in the sky more and more, wondering where he’d be sitting. She caught him staring off into the middle distance a couple times, real deep in thought, eyes glimmering with voodoos that tickled at his pan in the middle of some meeting she’d climbed the ranks into, youngest motherfucker there for a long stretch while the oldass priests and commanders and shit gave her side eye and sass.

Wasn’t til that shit with the candyblood that she got her shot. See, the blue that he kept on a leash had been secretly offing his competition for sweeps. Keeping him cosy, some of them she didn’t reckon Makara even knew on before they hit the floor, but the motherfucker sent him packing. Banished him to some cold corner of space, and then she got her motherfuckin chance. 

She caught him in thought in the throne room, when she stepped into the cavernous quiet with her axe still holstered, he was staring off at something with the space at his side long empty. It’d been sweeps since the blue had gotten sent away and he’d never hired another, and shit had gotten messy. Irrelevant, really. He’d have felled her before she let the door shut behind her, but Makara didn’t proper notice her until she cleared her throat and made herself known.

You did a good job, she’d said. Done our Messiahs righteous service. But it was time for a new reign, and he could hand it over quiet or she’d take it proper.

He’d laughed, hauled himself up slow to his feet and taken that big club out, the old stained one with the fierce tines. Told her he’d wondered what was keepin her so long. 

The first blow set her back a motherfuckin stagger, pan reeling as she fought to keep her feet and swung her axe to meet his blow. Shit shattered on impact, sent splinters showering across the motherfuckin’ throne room, crushed under their feet as they whirled across the room and she grabbed for another from her belt, ducking out from another blow that chased her as he pushed her back, back, back, up against a wall and spiralling. 

They’d fought a long motherfuckin stretch, when her first strike had hit him clean between the horns. The motherfucker’s thick skull had barely motherfuckin dented. He’d shrugged her off with a broad motherfuckin arm that sent her sprawling, and she’d had to scramble in a way all undignified to get back to her motherfuckin’ walkstubs and parry. His tined club scraped down her arm and she howled, burying her hatchet in his arm as he snarled and she snarled back, both eyes ablaze as they glared and pulled apart, her arm weeping as she scrambled for cover and he moved after her, slow and aching and tiring fast.

Aching hours passed, voodoos slinging back and forth, blows traded and taken, and it was a night’s stretch later when she stood over him and buried her axe in his neck. Her arm, her good fuckin hacking arm, was nearly dead by her side, he’d carved it up something motherfuckin fierce, and her horns were scratched to hell and back, but she sent him packing with a blow that knocked her dizzy from dealing it. She fell to her knees next to him and that’s where they’d motherfucking found her, and taken him off with a muttered prayer. 

Hauling her scratched up bloodied carcass on walkstubs she could barely feel, she slammed her ass down in the throne and breathed heavy for a moment, closing her eyes and leaning back in the motherfuckers seat. 

He’d left a bottle of faygo, half drank, on the seat, and it was digging into her thigh. She uncapped it, swigged the shit with a sigh, and threw it back over her shoulder for the fairies. Sinking down into the throne she could feel the grooves of the bodies that had sat in it before her, saw them drag the motherfucker out on a streak of purple that edged on violet, and her head nodded back with a soft clunk against the bone of the seat. Silence rang round the room, real heavy. She could hear a laugh, somewhere off outside beyond the walls, low and rich, and figured funeral arrangements could wait ‘til she’d recuperated. 

First shit first, she wanted a motherfucking nap.


End file.
